Of Wind and Water
by MungoJerry
Summary: ElizabethHaydonHG Wells crossover; While making a name for himself The Brother wanders Serendair around the time a mysterious man visits Iping...a curious storm and a sickly girl send into motion a string of events leading to an unkown. AchmedFansUnite!
1. Prologue

A/N: One day I was sitting in my room and I found The Invisible Man by HG Wells...later I started reading it in school and found that I kind of liked it. :)~ The invisible man sort of reminded me of Achmed, and that made me think "Wouldn't it be fun if Achmed met the invisible man?" And soo...THIS FIC WAS BORN! (I'm also kind of hoping I'll start some sort of trend of Rhapsody fanfictions, which are REALLY rare for some reason. The books are by Elizabeth Haydon, READ EM NOW! Please? They're really good...If anyone wants to start a petition to give it its own category, I'll sign.) I'd also like to apologize for any discrepancies in characters and story since I haven't finished The Invisible Man yet and can't write like E. Haydon and I'm not going to try. ^_^ Kay? This is pretty much using characters and concepts...you'll see.  
  
To keep in line with the Symphony of Ages series and to avoid any nagging details and characters I don't want to deal with, this takes place before Achmed gets enslaved by the F'dor. I'm also not going to bother with the Iping dialect.  
  
Rating: PG-13 for violence, just in case.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own the Symphony of Ages series or anything by HG Wells and I'm not making money off of this. THANKYOU! ^___^ Let the fun begin!  
  
**  
Prologue  
  
It was raining, the sun hidden by a slate shroud of clouds. The fat drops were driven into the skin of anyone unfortunate enough to be caught out in the monsoon like icey bullets, driven by a bone cold wind. Fields of grain and grass rolled in the thundering gale like waves of the sea while trees splintered like masts and there leaves flew about like scattered canvas. Animals hid where they could, a cave or a shed. Burrows were quickly flooded with cold, dark, choking water. Lighting split the sky like shards of luminous ice as rivers slowly rose.  
  
Annie thought it was beautiful and she pressed her pale face against the window. Occasionally she could catch a glimpse of the countryside through the veils of rain, the colors exaggerated and new looking like an oil painting. Water flowed everywhere, even in places inside her own house. This made her parents anxious but she didn't mind it so much. They thought it would make her sickness worse with a chill.  
  
She sat back in her bed with a sigh, drawing her knees up into her white nightgown. They were always so worried about her. She couldn't remember not being sick and she was hardley allowed outside. The doctors kept telling her that her body had something wrong with it and didn't fight as hard as other bodies when it got sick.  
  
The squeak of the door handle brought Annie's attention to her door as her mother came in with a tray and a steaming bowl of onion soup. Her mother was a good cook. The woman stopped for a moment and then swifty came forward, almost spilling the soup as she set the tray down on a small table, swooping down on her daughter like a raven. "Annie! Darling, what are you doing without your blanket?" She gave her daughter a quick hug and a peck on the cheek, then crouched at her bedside.  
  
"I was getting too hot..."  
  
"Well, then let me get you a thinner blanket. We don't want you catching a chill."  
  
Annie looked frantically around for an answer that wasn't wool, so many blankets, "The soup will warm me up!" Her mother laughed and pulled a blue wool blanket out of a green trunk by the wall. "Yes, but not nearly enough." She tucked the blanket around her daughter and pushed back the little girl's pale blonde hair and smiled, "We need to fight off your latest bout."  
  
The girl folded her arms in front of her and sighed again, "Okay..." Her mother gave her another appreciative peck on the cheek and asked, "Would you like me to get you a book?"  
  
"No thankyou."  
  
"Alright, I'll be back in a bit." And she left, quietly closing the door behind her. Annie put her tray on her lap and started on her soup, working a big chunk of melted provolone cheese around her spoon and looking out the window as she did so. She fancied she saw a black cloaked figure standing in the field, then watched as it ran between the sheets of rain and out of site like a black cloud. Annie wondered if it was the stranger from Mrs. Hall's inn again. As she stuffed the cheese into her mouth she concluded that it must be someone else, since you couldn't see Mrs. Hall's stranger anymore than you could see the wind.  
  
And nobody knew this but her. And she knew a lot of things.  
  
To be continued... 


	2. The Bend

Here goes my attempt at catching the essence of Achmed, or, more accurately, The Brother! This is going to be kind of fun since we no virtually nothing about The Brother except that he was a merciless master assasin...so I shall have to add my own colors to this vague outline. Let the fun begin!  
  
Disclaimer is in the first chapter of this story and applies to all chapters and will henceforth not be repeated. Thankyou for reading!  
  
To "IluvAchmed": WASAP? I'm RokaisBullet from the board! :D Heheh, the only problem is, I can't really log in or make a new account. Bah. VIVA LA HAYDON! ( And Cymrian brand toilet paper! ;)  
  
Ch. 1: The Bend  
  
Rain.  
  
Hateful, blinding, stupid rain. It drummed on his skin and numbed his senses with its constant deluge. Driving, cold, drowning. Water water everywhere. His thin leather boots slid in the mud and his black cloak was soaked through, whipping weakly and wetly in the wind. He was surprised he hadn't encountered any fish, swimming happily in the air.  
  
The Brother hated rain.  
  
It wasn't even the proper season for a storm like this, being mid-summer in the middle of Serendair, on the plains. Usually, storms were confined to Spring and late Fall, but no, not today!  
  
"The winds must be against me..." he rasped under his breath. The Brother was irritated; to say the least. He trod along the side of the road on the grass, where it was less muddy. This certainly seemed undignified for the future master assasin of the world, but he supposed dignity was something he could sacrifice. It wasn't a very useful virtue anyhow; one usually lost something when they gained dignity. The Brother placed "dignity" up there with "honor" as pointless and meaningless. What was the point of sparing the life of one less skilled than you if, when the tables were turned, that same life would have taken yours? That was honor. And dignity? Dignity would have one man stand and let the vegetable hit his face when it would be just as easy and more logical to duck.  
  
If there really was anything to the two virtues, their meaning was far beyond the Brother's capable thought. And he considered himself to have a fairly capable mind. To have survived being named "Spit" as a child and growing up in an equally sordid environment, he had to become capable.  
  
He silently cursed as he stepped in a gofer hole.  
  
"What did I do to deserve this?" he said outloud as he extracted his foot from the offending burrow.  
  
He certainly wasn't expecting an answer when one came in a thickened tone from a solitary tree, the only one for miles, "Not much, I'm sure, but I'll be betting on the fact that you'll regret whatever you did."  
  
The Brother, caught off guard, looked up and saw a brief flash in the weak light as a dagger plunged down from the tree and high on his back near the base of his neck. He noted that his attacker must be inexperienced, that the fumbled attack had actually been meant for the very base of his neck at his spine: he was lucky. This was more or less hovering on the edge of his mind as most of his attention was focused on the hot pain caused by the short blade and he was actually grateful for the numbing effect of the rain for a short moment. His attacker dropped un-gracefully out of the tree and onto the ground with a thump.  
  
The Brother sucked in his breath sharply and backpedaled a few steps, his feet crunching on the remains of a broken whisky bottle as he reached over his shoulder and yanked out the dagger. The other man on the ground watched as he hunched over, the left arm dangling as the right held onto the bleeding wound, the blood diffusing into the already soddened cloak.   
  
Viewing everything in a sort of daze, the Brother saw the man akwardly run forward, pulling his calloused hand back into a fist. The future assasin of renoun abruptly straightened up, flipping the dagger in his right hand, and aimed a low kick at the man's shin, snapping the bone with a loud crack; then quickly spun around and ended his drunken designs with a quick slash to the neck.  
  
The rain continued to drum, drowning out the sound of the Brother's beating heart as he backed up against the rough barked tree and sunk down. The dagger was still clutched in his hand, knuckles whiter than they already were. His back felt sticky.  
  
"...he was drunk...he had it coming to him..." he said softly under his breath. Partially satisfied, he reached back to feel his wound; the dagger was a good five inches, and it had gone up to the hilt in his back. The blade wasn't that thick though, so it would heal up alright. If he didn't die from bloodloss that was, or the incredible pain. His extra sensitive drachian senses weren't helping things.  
  
Clenching his teeth, he ripped off a small strip of his cloak and bundled it up, then ripped off a longer piece and held the bundle onto his wound by tying the long piece around his torso, under his right arm and up over his left shoulder. It wasn't very efficient, he'd have to stitch it up somehow, but it would do.  
  
There was a crash of thunder and the wind grew in strength; he actually had to hold onto his cloak for dear life, not having enough hands to hold onto his veils, which flew off into the night as if bewitched.  
  
He couldn't stay out here, but it didn't seem as if the Brother had any choice. There wasn't an inn or town for miles... An extra loud crash from the sky shattered his thoughts and he actually jumped. For a moment the land around him was illuminated by an eery glow from the lightning as it snaked its way in a split second to the ground not twenty yards away from him. The flash rendered him momentarily blind and he could feel the static charge in his skin, humming like a thousand wasps, momentarily drowning out the pain in his back.  
  
And then it was gone and the light faded. In its last remnants the Brother saw something on the horizon. There were lights. He crept around the corner of the tree, skirting the dead man warily. There were houses.  
  
In all his travels those had never been there. He had traveled this road thrice during the year, a town like that could not have been built between the last time he came and now.  
  
The lights winked back at him gayly, as if saying, "Nyah! Well we're here anyway. So there." The Brother stood up and stepped away from the tree, the wind grasping at his hood and driving the rain into his eyes.   
  
What if it's enchanted?  
  
You can't stay out in this.  
  
It's not supposed to be there.  
  
You'll die.  
  
I won't find help there.  
  
...how do you know?  
  
His mind still struggled with the idea, but in his heart he knew he was going to go.   
  
His bandage wasn't working.   
  
As he continued to step carefully away from the tree, the incident with the man temporarily forgotten, his eyes traced the road as it led into the city. He stopped and stood still as he noted a curious bend in it. All caution thrown to the wind, or torn away by it, (take your pick), the Brother followed the road as far as the bend and stopped.   
  
It was as if a completely different road started where it was bent, and the bend wasn't normally constructed. It formed an acute angle as it led off into the town, and the nature of it reminded him of a time when he was trailing a stick in a stream. The light had refracted the way the stick looked underwater and it looked bent, much like the road did now. The grass was different, the air was different, the road was more sloshed, and looked more heavily trodden.  
  
The lights looked dimmer, but they still beckoned. Come; come into our world.  
  
The Child of Blood, brother to all men, kin to none, stepped inside as it vanished.  
  
  
  
A/N: Man...I'm glad I gave this a PG-13 rating... 


End file.
